DEVOTED TO DARKNESS
by Amandah Leigh
Summary: Bellatrix Black is brilliant, but bored… until she meets HIM. He's older, handsome, charming. Mysterious. He's gearing up for war to change the whole Wizarding World. Infatuated from their very first encounter, Bella wonders, is giving herself to a man who promises to hurt her worth the pain… if He's promising to save her, too? Takes place between 1968-1981. DARK/LEMONS BellaMort
1. INTRODUCTION: 1968

**DEVOTED TO DARKNESS**

 **An Augury Origin Spin-off**

 **Detailed Description:** It's 1968. Bellatrix Black is a seventh year at Hogwarts. She's brilliant, but bored… until she meets Him. Tom Riddle. The Dark Lord. He's older, handsome, charming. Mysterious. He's already gathering a following, gearing up for war. He's going to change the Wizarding World. Infatuated from their very first encounter, Bella goes to bed with Him, then, months later, risks expulsion to sneak away with Him over a Hogsmeade weekend. It doesn't take long for her to develop an obsession with the Dark Lord, but is giving herself to a man who promises to hurt her worth the pain… if He's promising to save her, too?

A short, smutty fic with somewhat violent undertones about our favorite Death Eater's earlier life with the Dark Lord. It skips around between their meeting in 1968 and his fall in 1981.

DEVOTED TO DARKNESS is a companion piece to my Augury Origin series that began with MISTRESS OF THE DARK LORD, which includes Cursed Child spoilers It will be updated sporadically. This fic picks up after the conversation Voldemort and Bellatrix have in the pub where they met, shortly before she heads back to Hogwarts. You can find it in Chapter Five of LOYAL TO THE DARK LORD.

It is being updated slowly, during lulls with my other fics, at least for now.

* * *

 **DEVOTED TO DARKNESS**

 **PART ONE:**

 **INTRODUCTION**

 **1968**

* * *

They met in a tiny, dingy pub down on Knockturn Alley.

Late August, 1968.

She was wearing a low-cut corseted dress, drinking firewhiskey, and reading Magick Moste Evil. She was, generally, not paying any mind to anyone else in the crowded pub, and especially not paying attention to any man who tried to pick her up or buy her a drink.

He was wearing a gray Muggle suit under his Wizard's robes, which He hated, but it was necessary as he'd had business in London earlier in the evening. He was in a bad mood because a contact He'd hope would turn into a new follower had most unfortunately fallen through.

He was instantly attracted to her. It might have been the way her dress clung to the curve of her breasts or the untamed wildness of her black curly hair or the stark contrast of it against the bare alabaster shoulders against which it fell. It might have been her deep-set, heavy-lidded eyes, darting back and forth across the page as she drank in every word. It might have been pout of her lips, accented by Merlot-colored lipstick. It might have been the choice of drink for a witch so young, or it might have been that she was reading a restricted book of dark magic right out in the open as if it were the Daily Prophet.

But if He was being completely honest, He would have to say that that _most_ attracted Him to her was the arrogant air about her. Before she'd even spoken or looked at Him, He could discern that she thought she was better than anyone else in the room. He wanted to know why. He wanted to prove her wrong... or let her prove him right.

So He sat across from her.

"I'm not looking for friends," she said, not looking up from the page.

"Neither am I," he said as if bored by her presence. "I need a place to sit. This seat is available."

She stole glances at him over her book as he sipped his drink - elf made bourbon.

Eventually they began to talk.

"Are you a student?"

"Yes. Hogwarts, seventh year." Still, she did not look up from the book. "Slytherin."

"I was in Slytherin." He fingered the large, ornate ring on his middle finger, the one that had belonged to Salazar Slytherin himself. "Is Dumbledore still Deputy Headmaster?"

"He's Headmaster now."

"Vile, a Muggle-lover in charge of our youth. I hope he hasn't poisoned your brain with that coexistence rubbish."

Now he had her attention. She did not set her book down, but she did make eye contact. "My family belongs to the Sacred 28. Not a drop of dirty blood in over seven centuries of record keeping. If Dumbledore and his ilk had it their way, we'd all be mating with Muggles."

He half-smiled. She was even more attractive than He'd initially realized.

He launched into His usual spiel, the one reserved for those he suspected sympathetic to His cause, but tailored it more specifically to her as a young woman than He would to the men with whom He typically interacted. Rather than speak of power and violence and control, He spoke of rights and usurpation and restoration. Finally, she folded down the page of her book and set it on the table. Her vision tunneled, and soon it was as thought they were the only two people in the pub. Perhaps the only two people in the world.

He found He wanted this girl – and she _was_ just a girl – and as His promises of domination over Muggleborns and the eradication of Mudbloods excited her, He found Himself getting excited too… in a different way. Though He was a good-looking and charming man, He'd always been, it had been some time since He last found a woman He was interested in bedding. Sure, He fucked around. There was no shortage of willing women. But He wanted to take this girl, to claim her, to hear her beg for Him… He wanted to pleasure her and gain her full devotion to Him. He wanted her to be willing and eager but He also wanted her to present a challenge, not to throw herself at Him.

She nodded vigorously. She rubbed his forearm. She twirled her hair and smiled at him.

He bought her more liquor. He touched her knee. He told her He wanted to get to know her better.

She asked him how she could join His cause, how she could make a difference.

He took her upstairs to the room He was renting.

Once the door was closed, He kissed her. Roughly. No pretense, no warning.

She responded, parting her lips, granting His tongue entrance, pressing her upper body against His. He felt a familiar tug in His groin. That was all it had taken – all she'd had to do was return His kiss and close the space between them, and He was hard.

"Are you a virgin?" He growled in her ear. He wanted her to be a virgin. He wanted to take that from her.

"Yes," she whispered, and without Legilimency He was sure she was telling the truth.

"It's going to hurt," He warned.

"Good," she said, looking straight into His eyes. "I like pain."

This, He could tell, was a lie, but it was only His ability to read minds and emotions that told Him as much, and the fact that she would say it when it wasn't true only excited Him more.

"You will," He assured her. He grabbed her by the upper arm and threw her down toward the bed. She landed with her knees on the floor and the mattress pressing against her midsection. Before she could re-position herself to be facing Him, He was behind her, grinding against her ass, one of His hands making its way to her chest.

"You're going to do as I tell you," He said, squeezing her breast, thrusting His hardness against her through their clothes. "If I tell you to open your mouth, you'll open it. If I tell you to spread your legs, you'll spread them."

"Fuck off," she said, despite being weak-kneed with want for Him. "I don't take orders from anyone."

This made Him smile. She was perfect. Precisely what He'd been looking for.

"You'll take orders from me and you'll like it."

"If I want you in my mouth, I'll open my mouth. If I want you between my legs, I'll…"

"Trust me," He growled, His mouth barely a breath away from her ear. "You'll want me between your legs."

He continued to caress her breasts with His hands, grinding against her, while His lips and tongue made their way from just under her ear to her neck to her shoulder. He bit and kissed and sucked at her skin and she felt her resolve waning even further as, for the first time, her body ached for the touch of a man.

"Am I making you wet?" He asked in response to her desperate squirming. He rubbed between her legs with one hand. She clenched her teeth, refusing to give Him the satisfaction of knowing she liked what He was doing. "Well?"

"You're alright," she said.

He laughed, stood, and grabbed her by the wild curls on the back of her head. He forced her to turn, still on her knees, and undid his Muggle trousers.

"Have you done this before?" He asked as he freed His hard cock from the confines of His clothes.

"No," she answered. (This, too, was a lie.)

"Open your mouth," He demanded.

She raised an eyebrow. "What if I don't want to? What if I say no?"

"You don't want to say no," He said. "And if you're good at this, I'll be good to you."

She stared up at Him, dark eyes flashing but narrowed, pupils dilated, torn between the desire to please him and be pleased by Him and her inherent need to fight back and win, no matter the battle. After a pause, during which He remained still and unspeaking, she took Him in her hand and began to stroke. He smirked. She was smart, He'd give her that. By doing this, she was neither complying with His request nor denying Him what He wanted.

She was strong-willed. Attractive. Young. A fighter. Unafraid of pain.

Yes.

She was precisely what He'd been looking for.

She flicked out her tongue like a snake, barely making contact with the head of His manhood, teasing Him, torturing Him. To His surprise, He found He liked it.

Finally, she took Him in her mouth, licking His shaft, sucking hard, still stroking Him with her hand. For a girl who claimed no experience, she certainly seemed to know what she was doing.

He hadn't intended to let this act result in His completion but as she sped up the movements of her mouth and hand, He could feel Himself getting close. Still holding tightly onto the back of her hair, He forced Himself deeper into her throat, making her gag as He thrust, and then withdrawing almost entirely, over and over. When He pulled out again, she took the opportunity to suck harder on His tip, still stroking with her hand, and that was when He lost control. He came in her mouth and to His pleasant surprise, she swallowed Him, moaning just as He was, happy to have pleased Him.

Using her hair to do so, He pulled her into a standing position. They made eye contact for a long, silent moment. He expected to see what He usually saw in the eyes of women He was bedding for the first time, especially virgins: insecurity. Fear.

But insecurity and fear did not exist in the expression of this girl. This woman. She'd told Him she was seventeen, which meant she was of age in the Wizarding World, though she was still a student at Hogwarts – which might prove to be of value to Him, too. He smiled.

"I was good at that," she said, as if challenging Him. "You said, in exchange, you'd be good to me. Are you the sort of man who keeps up His end of a bargain?"

"On the bed."

She crawled on and positioned herself on her knees, hands on her hips, facing Him. "What now?"

He took her chin between His thumb and forefinger, tilting her face up, and, much more gently than He usually would, He kissed her. Again it was she who parted her lips first, exploring His mouth with her tongue, nipping lightly at His lower lip, her hand on the back of His head under His hair.

"Have you done this with many boys?" He asked, moving His hands to her breasts, moving his mouth to her chest, flicking His tongue against her nipple under the fabric of her corset.

She half-smiled, head tossed back, enjoying the sensation. "Boys? No."

He looked her over quizzically. "Girls?"

"I get what I need," she said.

He felt a painful twinge in His groin. Damn, she was good.

He began unlacing the back of the corset, but she stopped Him.

"It's a real bitch to re-lace, but there are hooks in the front. See?" She undid the first three. "And so on…"

"Exquisite." He undid the rest, exploring her chest with His mouth and fingers as He did so, until the corset part of the dress was completely open but still attached to the skirt. He threw her roughly backward onto the mattress and yanked the dress down her legs, leaving her wearing only her knickers and thigh-high nylons, both black.

He took her breast in his mouth, alternating between licking and sucking her nipple, scraping His teeth over it, which made her moan. Unable to stop Himself, He bit down hard on her breast, leaving the imprint of His teeth in her skin, sure to bruise. To His pleasant surprise, instead of intimidating her, this made her cry out and arch her back, her hand entangled in his hair, longing for more.

"You liked that?" He asked.

"I like a lot of things I shouldn't," she answered.

Feeling bold, she began unbuttoning His shirt, wanting to feel His bare skin against hers. She became impatient as her fingers fumbled with the buttons so she gave up and simply pulled, ripping it away from His body, causing several of the buttons to pop clean off.

"A wanton little slag, aren't you?" He asked.

"I'm not a slag," she said, ceasing her caress of his bare chest.

Not at all sorry, but wanting her to resume that lovely tickling of his sensitive skin with her sharp nails, he apologized. "Tell me what you need."

"I need you to touch me," she said, apparently forgiving him that word. "I need to touch you."

"I'm going to hurt you," He warned, echoing His words from earlier.

"Good." She dug her long, sharp fingernails into the backs of His now-bare shoulders. "Do it."

He did not need to be told twice. He slid His hands up her soft pale arms, moving them above her head, stopping at her wrists. Holding them both in one of His hands, He pinned her down. His other hand moved to between her legs, inside her knickers, rubbing her. He slid one finger into her, then another, and began to thrust, enjoying the realization of how wet He was indeed making her. While He fucked her with His fingers, His mouth moved back to her neck, which He kissed and bit, eliciting a gasp from her. When He withdrew them, He put them in His mouth, sucking them off, then kissed her, taking her lower lip into His mouth, biting down on it, drawing blood. Again the pleasure of it made her cry out, which made His arousal grow. She ran her tongue over the cut, enjoying the metallic taste, wanting to do the same to Him, but her teeth met air as He pulled away.

"Is that all?" she asked defiantly, her eyes clouded over with desire. "I thought you promised to hurt me."

He smirked, stood, and fully removed the Muggle trousers, then retrieved His wand from the pocket of His robes and pointed it at her.

"As you wish. Crucio!"

The curse He hit her with wasn't very powerful, which was intentional. He was trying to make a point, not torture her into insanity. But to His shock, she twitched for only a second then seemed to throw it off.

"Is that all you've got?" she taunted. "Oh, darling, you have to really _mean_ it. You have to really _want_ to cause pain. Do you _want_ to cause me _pain_?"

His eyes narrowed. He wasn't sure how to react to this. He did not enjoy being mocked, and yet… he almost did enjoy it. He pointed His wand again.

"Crucio!"

This time, her body writhed against the sheets. She squeezed her eyes shut, took a deep breath, and forced herself to stop feeling it.

"That was better," she said. "But I believe we've had a miscommunication. I thought you intended to _hurt_ me."

"You combative little cunt," He said, but His tone told her He was amused, not angry. He climbed back onto the bed, using a nonverbal spell and a swish of His wand to bind her wrists, and tied them to the bedpost. He then ran the tip of His wand from her bound wrists, down her arms, to the center of her chest, between her breasts, to her belly button, down her flat lower abdomen, and finally to her center. He pressed it against her and for one frantic moment she wondered if He was going to put it inside her, but He, sensing her fear, uncharacteristically retreated, pulling it back by about two inches. He leaned close to her ear and whispered, "Crucio."

This time, the pain was complexly concentrated in that one area, but given how worked up she was, it sent every nerve in her body into a frenzy. She bucked her hips against the air, struggling against the binding on her wrists, trying to arch her back, and cried out, as her orgasm overwhelmed her despite the fact that it did, unquestionably, hurt.

When both the pain and her pleasure had subsided, she stared up at Him, breathing heavy.

"Damn," she said weakly.

"You've learned to fight back against the Cruciatus," He said, removing the binding on her wrists, allowing her to sit up.

"Yes," she confirmed, tossing her hair arrogantly. "And I can throw off the Imperius completely."

"I'm impressed."

Though she tried not to let on, this praise from the man who would become her Master pleased her almost as much as their physical encounter had thus far.

"What's next?" she asked.

"You might be too much for me," He said offhandedly.

She laughed.

"You're teasing me. I doubt anything is too much for you."

"Open your mouth."

Again He thrust himself into her, making her gag at first. He thrust again and again, at least a half-dozen times, then He pulled away and, now completely hard again, he concentrated on bringing her pleasure - which was rarely his goal when with a woman, but with this woman, it felt different. He rubbed against her clit with His tip, which elicited several desire-inspired moans, as His tongue returned to her breasts.

"Lick me," she ordered. "Down there. Do it."

He raised an eyebrow. He couldn't recall ever having been with such a demanding woman.

"Are you certain you're a virgin? I am an exceptionally skilled Legilimens. If you're lying, I'll know."

"If you're as exceptional at Legilimency as you claim, you'd have known whether I was lying the first time I answered your question."

"Bitch!" Keeping one hand on His hardened member poised at her entrance, the other moved to her throat. "You dare to doubt me?"

"I'm a virgin," she insisted, lying but showing no fear. "Care to change that?"

"Not yet," He said, releasing her neck. "I believe you had a request…"

He moved His mouth down, positioning Himself between her legs, and worked His tongue over her clit and between her folds. Her wrists were still bound above her head but her lower half writhed as she struggled to keep self-control. Upon her second orgasm of the evening, He ceased, roughly spread her legs wider, hands on her thighs, and, without spoken warning, thrust into her.

She cried out, unprepared for the pain, which was, of course, very different from the Cruciatus but in some respects hurt more because she could not will it away. With a wave of His hand, the binding around her wrists Vanished, and immediately she wrapped her arms around Him, digging her fingernails into His back, which He liked.

He rode her hard, giving no consideration to the fact that this was (she claimed) her first time, and when He felt Himself getting close to the edge He flipped them so that He was on His back and she was on top of Him.

"Move your hips like this," He instructed, using His hands on her thighs to show her what to do. "Faster. Harder. Yes… yes… fuck… yes…"

He reached up and grabbed her bouncing breasts, pulled her forward, and took one into His mouth as she continued to grind on top of Him.

Again when He felt He was close, He stopped, this time pulling out, flipping her onto her stomach, and forcing her into a kneeling position. He entered her again, placing one hand on her shoulder to control His thrusts, and rubbing her center with the other.

Now she was the one crying out. "Yes! Yes, please… yes… don't stop…"

He leaned forward, bit down even harder on her shoulder than He had on her chest, and that was enough for Him. He exploded inside her. When completely spent, He rolled onto His back on the mattress, making no attempt to touch or hold her, which was fine as far as she was concerned. Her brain was fuzzy, neurons firing at random and all over. She was out of breath, feeling both heady and dazed.

"You're seventeen?" He asked.

"I am."

He nodded slowly, as if taking in this information was difficult.

"You're seventeen and, until today, a virgin, but you're more than capable in a bedroom than most of the grown witches I've had."

"Yes," she agreed, even though she didn't know whether that was true or not. Her self-confidence made Him smile.

"Who are you?"

"Who do you think I am?" She rolled onto her side to face Him. He continued to stare up at the ceiling.

"You're a seventeen-year-old former virgin. You've quite possibly been with both boys and girls. You are fascinated by the Dark Arts, thus you were reading Magick Moste Evil whilst sitting alone in a pub, not looking for friends, as you so eloquently informed me. You can fight against the Cruciatus, and you can throw off the Imperius, but you've never killed – I can sense that you've never killed. From what you've told me, your family belongs to the Sacred 28. You believe in blood purity and putting Muggles back in their rightful place, you have two younger sisters, you're about to start your last year at Hogwarts, and you enjoy both inflicting and receiving pain."

"All of that is accurate," she said.

He nodded again. "But just who _are_ you, really?"

She was still reeling and lightheaded from this first genuine consensual sexual experience and all that preceded it, but determined to appear cool and collected, she replied, "I'm no more or less than a capable witch who wants to join your cause. Let me be a Death Eater. Let me take the Dark Mark."

"I knew you would want to," He said, smiling. "Bellatrix Black, I knew from the moment I saw you that you were going to be one of us."


	2. PROPHECY: 1980

**DEVOTED TO DARKNESS**

 **PART TWO:**

 **PROPHECY**

 **1980**

* * *

She waited for hours for Him to return home.

Mid-February, 1980.

When He finally arrived, He was angrier than she'd seen in some time. Years, perhaps.

Dangerously so.

And at first, she was afraid.

It was the night Severus Snape delivered news of a prophecy.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied Him... born as the seventh month dies..."

Snape hadn't heard the whole thing.

But he'd heard enough.

Upon entering His current temporary home, the Dark Lord went into a rage, destroying half His possessions ( _their_ possessions, if you asked Bellatrix) and setting several items on fire, which she promptly put out.

He was living in a cottage that, on the outside, no one would ever suspect would house the greatest dark wizard of all time. It was bright and cheery and on the water, with a white stone path leading up to three steps and a door with a window that boasted pale, almost pastel, green frilly curtains.

He hated it.

She loved it.

He hated it because it was the complete opposite of anything He should like to live in. Small, charming, cozy, cute...

She loved it because it was for them and them alone, and here she could pretend to be more than His mistress. She could pretend to be His girlfriend... or His wife.

Despite the appearance, it was perfect. It was unplottable and out of the way, far from both Muggles and the wizarding world, and so innocuous that anyone who might chance by (should the wards around it bizarrely fail) he or she would assume it was the home of a plump, kind-faced older lady, perhaps a widow, whose grandchildren could pick yellow flowers from the yard and fly kites along the beach.

No one, save for Bellatrix, knew of its existence. He was His own secret keeper and the secret was shared only with her.

He never held meetings here.

He did that at the homes of various Death Eaters. At Lucius Malfoy's Manor, or in Regulus Black's spacious kitchen, in the drawing room of the falling-into-disrepair estate of the Lestrange brothers' deceased parents, or in the vast candlelit cellar of Hazel Whitecrest's impressive mansion. This cottage was for Him and Him alone...

Except when it was for Him and her alone.

Severus hadn't even known where to find him. He had to use his Dark Mark to Summon their Master to His own little hovel, a decrepit, dilapidated home at the end of the street full of filthy Muggles. The Dark Lord went alone, though Bellatrix, in His bed beside Him when the Summons came, begged to go with.

When He returned, He was furious. She was hoping He might have discovered something awful about Severus Snape, that he was a traitor, preferably, and had subsequently killed him, as she was jealous of the way he was steadily rising in rank and respect, but no such luck.

When He was through casting Reductos and Bombardas and Diffindos at the curtains and furniture she picked out as well as at the collected dark objects and stolen heirlooms of old wizarding families that had died out long ago, He collapsed into a leather easy chair.

She busied herself fixing whatever could be fixed, though He had not requested this of her, then she made him dinner, though she was admittedly a terrible cook, never having done it much before He needed her to do so. He used to have a house-elf, gifted to Him by the dying mother of her husband, Rodolphus, but several weeks before Snape's eavesdropping mission the damn thing went and died, and now that the name Lord Voldemort was known all across their world, it wasn't as if He could simply stop into a Diagon Alley shop and purchase a new one.

They ate mostly in silence, though every now and again He would utter an expletive or mutter about being thrice defied.

She cleaned up after dinner as well, which she did not enjoy, as domestic chores had never been her forte.

"Do you intend to return to the bed of your husband tonight?" He asked once night had fallen.

"I'd rather not, my Lord," she said, boldly pressing her palms to His chest and bringing them up over his shoulders, then linking her hands behind His neck.

"I will hurt you tonight," He hissed in warning, a promise. "I am in a foul mood, my Bella."

"Then hurt me," she whispered. She was nearly thirty and had now been giving herself to Him physically for over a decade, and though it was not uncommon for Him to be rough with her, this was the first time he'd outright expressed intention to hurt her since their very first encounter. She looked Him up and down. His appearance had changed since 1968, when they met in that put. He was beautiful then. She couldn't quite put her finger on the changes. Something about His eyes... the color was almost... red. And they were thinner, almost slitted, as they hadn't been before. And He was paler. There was something almost ethereal about Him. Sometimes she almost felt she was viewing Him through mist or fog, like His edges were blurred, though that hardly made any sense.

But He remained as attractive as desirable and breathtaking as ever – to her, in any case – and she would do anything for Him.

"Get on the bed," He ordered. She did, kneeling before Him, awaiting her next direction. He grabbed her by the back of her hair – how He loved to move her around by her hair – and pressed His lips to hers. His tongue flicked into her mouth through parted lips and she welcomed it, melting against Him.

At first, it did not seem He would follow through on His promise to hurt her. On the contrary, they kissed more tenderly than usual, and He gentle stroked her cheek, and explored her upper body with His hands, and gently parted her thighs with His knee.

Once they were naked, though, and she was writhing beneath Him, wet with want, her back arched and body ready, when she begged Him to take her, He changed.

"They think they can defy me and get away with it?" He pinned her wrists above her head. "They think they'll create a baby to bring me to my demise?" He bit down hard on her shoulder, drawing blood. "They think they're any match for me, Lord Voldemort?"

"They're no match for you, Master," she whispered, though she knew nothing of what he spoke.

"I shall show them who is the greatest wizard, the greatest to ever live... They put their faith in Dumbledore. Ha!" Keeping one hand on her pinned wrists, He jerked up her left leg with the other. "I am the Dark Lord. I have all the power, and will soon have all the control..."

"Yes, Master, yes..." She tilted her hips, hinting to Him that she was ready.

"They see Dumbledore as my better, but no man is even my equal!" For no obvious reason, He slapped her, hard, across the face. Tears stung her eyes, but she was not upset.

"Fuck me, Master, please," she pleaded as He lowered His face to breathe into her hair.

"I will track them down and they will die. All of them."

"Yes... yes... they will die..." She kissed His neck and jaw and cheek.

"I shall leave nothing to chance."

"Nothing, my Lord, leaving nothing..." She bucked against Him again, desperate to be filled by Him.

"I am the greatest wizard the wizarding world had ever seen, and soon it shall all be ruled by me, the brilliant, the powerful, the immortal..."

"The humble," she joked, followed by a gasp. She hadn't meant to say that; it had slipped out.

To her surprise, He laughed.

"And this is why I keep you around, my Bella." He released her wrists, but she knew to keep them above her head as He'd positioned. He grabbed her throat, applying just enough pressure to make her go dizzy, but not enough for her to pass out. "You are mine. You belong to me."

"I do not belong to anyone, my Lord," she managed to whisper, despite his hand against her larynx.

"I never should have married you off to that boorish oaf, Lestrange." He jerked her right leg up as He had her left, holding both behind her knees. She could feel the tip of His arousal pressing against her entrance and whimpered, her tummy fluttering, hoping He would ask her to divorce her husband, to give herself entirely to Him.

Instead, He said again, "You belong to me."

Before she could argue, He thrust into her, making her gasp and twitch and writhe and moan. He fucked her hard and fast, one hand returning to her throat, the other all over – grabbing her breast, smacking her thigh, fisted in her hair...

When His stamina was nearly spent but He was not, He rolled them over so He was on His back and encouraged her to ride Him. She placed one hand in the center of His chest, the other on His hip, and grinded her body over His, turned on by every evidence He was enjoying her, every bead of sweat, every guttural groan, every time His hips jerked or His cock throbbed or He called out her name.

When He was nearly ready, He grabbed her by the hips, yanked her off of Him, and tossed her down on the bed beside Him. He used His hand to bring Himself to completion, as He stared down at the woman He'd been contentedly fucking for over ten years. She did not tear her eyes from His as He finished, though her hands were busy – one toying with her nipple, the other between her legs. He spilled Himself on her lower abdomen, too smart to risk coming inside her, as they'd already had one pregnancy that needed taking care of and did not need another.

She finally closed her eyes as she, too, finished, and silently rejoiced when His satiated body collapsed on top of hers.

Despite His warning, the bite, and that one hard slap across her face, He had not hurt her. She was glad and yet she was almost... disappointed. She didn't mind a bit of sadism and masochism in the bedroom... though she most highly preferred the encounters during which He would allow her to be the one to hurt Him.

"My Lord," she whispered, longing to kiss Him, to cuddle with Him, but He rarely allowed such post-coital intimacy. She supposed she ought to just be happy with the fact that He was still on top of her.

"It could be the Longbottoms or the Potters." He spoke into her hair. She slipped her arms around Him, lightly scratching at His back with her fingernails, and struggled to regain her ability to properly breathe.

"What, my Lord?"

"Severus Snape has revealed to me a prophecy, made by a candidate for the role of Divination professor at Hogwarts. In it, the Seer has prophesied that I am in danger of being vanquished by an unborn baby, the son of a couple that has thrice defied me, due at the end of July. This could either mean the Longbottoms or the Potters."

"A baby, a threat to you? Absurd."

He rolled off her, onto His back, and stared at the cottage ceiling above them. She slid her hand down between their bodies and pressed the back of hers against His, in a sort of inverted hand-holding position. She was pleased when He did not pull away.

"This has been foretold, but as you know, the future is ours to change, to control. I can stop it. But I must know which baby to target. Which family. The Longbottoms, or the Potters."

"I should think the Longbottoms, my Lord," said Bellatrix. She closed her eyes, exhausted from their lengthy sex session, during which she'd done most of the 'work,' (as was becoming more frequently the case as of late).

"Why, Bellatrix?"

"Because the Longbottoms are like us, a Pureblood couple..." She cleared her throat and self-corrected. "What I mean to say is, they're like you. They're Purebloods. Real wizards, deserving of wands, who have come by their magic honestly. The Potters – well, you know. Potter, unlike LOngbottom, is not among the Sacred Tnwety-eight, and that ginger-haired bitch he married is a bloody Mudblood, of no wizarding background at all. That means their son or daughter will be mixed. A nasty, revolting little half-blood. A half-blood couldn't possible harm you, Master. I doubt a Pureblood could, no matter what a Seer says. But if you have to decide between the two, and have no other reason to favor one over the other, I would say your greater danger is the progeny of the Pureblood Longbottoms."

"Thank you, Bella," He hissed, as His eyes also closed. She was right. The Potter's child would be a half-blood. A half-blood... like Him. He knew now whom to target, He knew who provided the greatest danger. "You have helped me more than you know."

"I live to do for you what you wish, to be for you what you need," she said.

With a cheeky grin, she couldn't help adding, "I'll do everything you want except belong to you."


End file.
